


Storm Chasers

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Intimacy, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Storm Chasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: They’d driven out to the Plains in the Impala, and Sam had watched, mouth open, breathless, eyes wide, as a tornado had run through the damned dust bowl stretched out in front of them - close enough that the hot, dry wind touched his face and ran through his hair.And Dean had watched him, grinning, the whole damn time.





	Storm Chasers

When Sam was fourteen or fifteen, he did a project on tornadoes. He didn’t often let himself get too interested in school projects - he worked hard, and he had a pretty great grade point average despite hopping from school to school to school, but he tried to do what was needed on projects and stop. No sense getting attached to something when in a month or two he’d be in a different state anyway.

Dad went off on a hunt up in the mountains - some river spirit that was going wild - and left the Impala. And that weekend, Dean had said, “Hey, Sammy - let’s get you some firsthand experience on that stupid project of yours.”

They’d driven out to the Plains in the Impala, and Sam had watched, mouth open, breathless, eyes wide, as a tornado had run through the damned dust bowl stretched out in front of them - close enough that the hot, dry wind touched his face and ran through his hair. 

And Dean had watched him, grinning, the whole damn time.

 ---

“Stop it,” Sam says. Crowley grins at him. The bunker had been quiet until Crowley had come home, and Crowley flicks another droplet of water at Sam’s face. Sam stands, shoving the other man back, and suddenly there’s a flare of  _heat_  in the room, sudden and striking; wind seems to shuffle his papers and ruffle his hair, and Sam clicks his tongue. “Cheap trick.”

“I’m nothing of the sort,” Crowley purrs, putting his hands on Sam’s hips. His nails play over the divot there, and Sam shakes his head. It’s weird, in a way, that Crowley reminds him of stuff like that - reminds him of stormchasing, or of watching lightning strikes from a cheap motel window, or of seeing a gale attack the Florida coastline on a hunt for some poltergeist.

Crowley’s not a force of nature - he’s so far from it that it makes Sam’s  _head_  spin - but there’s something about him that puts him on the same level as stuff like that. Demons... They’re storms, in their own way. 

Crowley, very deliberately, wipes his wet hands on Sam’s shirt, not bothering to reach for a dishcloth, and Sam nods.

“Put one of your records on and read a book. I’m working.”

“Come to bed,” Crowley murmurs.

“ _No,”_  Sam insists, and Crowley laughs, reaches up. He touches the side of Sam’s jaw, tracing the skin. He’s not so much of a demon as he was, once upon a time - as he should be. There’s something human in him, now, or at least, Sam thinks so, when Crowley looks at him. “Gimme like, forty minutes.”

“Love, it’s two in the morning,” Crowley murmurs. His fingers trace the pulse point of Sam’s neck.

“Thirty,” Sam offers, and Crowley sighs, dramatically.

“ _Fine_ , you big moose. But I’m setting an alarm on my phone - don’t you think I’m not.”

Sam watches him go, watches Crowley slip out of the kitchen and head down the corridors - he moves like he’s been down here for years and years, like he knows everything inside out. Sam grins slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he drops back to sit down at the kitchen table, and he looks over the open tab on his laptop screen.

He glances up, sees Dean in the other doorway, and despite his disapproval, despite his uncertainty about Crowley, he has a little grin on his face.

“Getting some sugar there, Sammy?”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll take some salt in with me,” Sam retorts. Dean groans, giving a horrified little shake, and he heads off down the corridor.


End file.
